Yup, the big holiday weekend is about to start, and there's work to do. I've done most of my house cleaning, but the yard needs attention. So, the riding lawnmower will get a workout this morning. After all, Miss Annie Love is coming home for the weekend, so we want the place to look nice, and I don't want to be doing housework or lawnwork this weekend.
This afternoon, I'll be bathing Miss Lily for the Bonner County Fair Horse Show, which starts at 8 a.m. tomorrow. Between my sisters and the Loves, we'll be taking four horses for the morning halter classes, including Barbara's mare April, Miss Lily and the two young Arabian studs, Lefty and Dusty. We're going to try to bathe them, but if that doesn't work out, there's this stuff in a bottle that takes care of stains and ground in dirt.
Both of the little guys seem to catch on fast to learning just about anything. Of course, when little guys go to a big show for the first time, anything's possible. The nice part about baby horses is that judges don't usually expect them to behave perfectly. And, when they're flashy little Arabians, that's a plus. There's nothing prettier than high prancing Arabian foals, trotting around and whinnying for anyone who'll come and "get me out of here."
After the show, we'll haul all but April home and then move on to the next thing. The "next thing" tomorrow is Carson and Karen Jeffres' wedding reception at Daddy Larry's place. Daddy Larry called up the other day and said he and Carson's mom Debbie had been talking about roasting Carson at the barbecue. Then, they decided Marianne Love would have to step to the mike for the festivities.
Well, I've got a little roast stuff on Carson, who's as funny as they come with his stories and observations, but I had to call on Willie, who's Carson's longtime friend and basketball buddy, to come up with the good stuff. So, thanks to Willie's written contributions, I think I have enough fodder to at least get the ball rolling at the barbecue. It should be a fun gathering.
We'll then come home and crash, then decide what Annie wants to do on Sunday. She'd like to go to Canada on a geocaching run. And, we've been invited to a barbecue at Hayden Lake, so we've got some plotting to do as we figure out the agenda. Annie has most of the day here on Monday, but we haven't gotten that far on the calendar yet.
I know one thing for sure; the tomatoes are ripening, so whatever we do, I'm sure there'll be some sampling of tasty red tomatoes, straight off the vine. And, that just gets my mouth watering for the weekend to begin.
Happy holiday to all.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Back to school
I have to be out the door by 6:45 this morning and at the high school by 7:15. Ya'd think after five years of retirement, I'd catch on, but once again, circumstances involving a book have me heading to the high school bright and early with all the other teachers returning from summer vacation.
Well, in some cases, I know teachers who've been hanging out at their schools for many, many hours over the past week or two. My sisters fit in that category as do many more. Once again, the myth of the three months off, six hours a day is debunked.
I wonder who started that story, probably the same person who's been trying to figure out that chicken crossing-the-road motive. Anyway, it's been around for a long time, and it appears to never go away. Nonetheless, one more time, I'll tell all the world that it's not true.
I have to go to the staff opening day/breakfast because Keokee Books and Panhandle Alliance for Education agreed that I ought to show up, say hello to teachers and sign a few Lessons with Love. I was originally supposed to speak to the teachers, but time wouldn't allow it.
So, this morning, in honor of teachers and good people everywhere, I'm going to include the few words I'd penned to share with the locals in my profession as they start another school year. Here goes . . . . . .
PAFE Teacher Breakfast Thoughts:
This summer I visited for all of two minutes with a former student who had come a long, long way home to celebrate his mother’s 70th birthday. I was headed out the door at the Landing Restaurant when I met him, so I kept our visit brief and to the point.
I wanted him to know that within my recently published memoir, I had given top billing to a story in which he was involved. It was the story of that December, 1984, when our house burned down just before Christmas. I wanted him to know that his efforts as student body president, along with those of an entire community, had changed my life and my outlook forever.
The generosity we’d seen because of a student-launched fund drive, because of fellow teachers and administrators working together, because of a community filled with generous hearts----all working quickly and efficiently to try to patch our lives back together again----what story could surpass that "Lesson of Love" we all experienced as a family in need.
I told this former student he had achieved some phenomenal things in his life, but that one event so many years ago where he served as a leader had profound impact upon me.
He was touched and inspired to share with me something he’d learned from another of his mentors after leaving Sandpoint High School. This military superior told him: Your legacy is the people you leave behind.
“I believe that, and I try to practice that wherever I happen to be,” he told me.
I walked away from our conversation that day, proud and fulfilled----knowing I had been his teacher and knowing that a young man is out there in the world succeeding but never forgetting one of the more important lessons in life, whether he’s in Afghanistan, Iraq, the Pentagon or Whidbey Island Naval Air Station.
That young man, by the way, graduated from Sandpoint High School in 1985 as a superior student, athlete and leader. Five years later, he graduated No. 1 in his class at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis. His name is Greg Parker.
In any walk of life, and especially as teachers of young minds, your legacy is the people you leave behind. Teach them well and treat them well. You will be long remembered for both. That is the greatest reward a person could ever expect in this life and in this profession. Good luck.
Well, in some cases, I know teachers who've been hanging out at their schools for many, many hours over the past week or two. My sisters fit in that category as do many more. Once again, the myth of the three months off, six hours a day is debunked.
I wonder who started that story, probably the same person who's been trying to figure out that chicken crossing-the-road motive. Anyway, it's been around for a long time, and it appears to never go away. Nonetheless, one more time, I'll tell all the world that it's not true.
I have to go to the staff opening day/breakfast because Keokee Books and Panhandle Alliance for Education agreed that I ought to show up, say hello to teachers and sign a few Lessons with Love. I was originally supposed to speak to the teachers, but time wouldn't allow it.
So, this morning, in honor of teachers and good people everywhere, I'm going to include the few words I'd penned to share with the locals in my profession as they start another school year. Here goes . . . . . .
PAFE Teacher Breakfast Thoughts:
This summer I visited for all of two minutes with a former student who had come a long, long way home to celebrate his mother’s 70th birthday. I was headed out the door at the Landing Restaurant when I met him, so I kept our visit brief and to the point.
I wanted him to know that within my recently published memoir, I had given top billing to a story in which he was involved. It was the story of that December, 1984, when our house burned down just before Christmas. I wanted him to know that his efforts as student body president, along with those of an entire community, had changed my life and my outlook forever.
The generosity we’d seen because of a student-launched fund drive, because of fellow teachers and administrators working together, because of a community filled with generous hearts----all working quickly and efficiently to try to patch our lives back together again----what story could surpass that "Lesson of Love" we all experienced as a family in need.
I told this former student he had achieved some phenomenal things in his life, but that one event so many years ago where he served as a leader had profound impact upon me.
He was touched and inspired to share with me something he’d learned from another of his mentors after leaving Sandpoint High School. This military superior told him: Your legacy is the people you leave behind.
“I believe that, and I try to practice that wherever I happen to be,” he told me.
I walked away from our conversation that day, proud and fulfilled----knowing I had been his teacher and knowing that a young man is out there in the world succeeding but never forgetting one of the more important lessons in life, whether he’s in Afghanistan, Iraq, the Pentagon or Whidbey Island Naval Air Station.
That young man, by the way, graduated from Sandpoint High School in 1985 as a superior student, athlete and leader. Five years later, he graduated No. 1 in his class at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis. His name is Greg Parker.
In any walk of life, and especially as teachers of young minds, your legacy is the people you leave behind. Teach them well and treat them well. You will be long remembered for both. That is the greatest reward a person could ever expect in this life and in this profession. Good luck.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Let me get back to vegetables
I've been reading and hearing more than I want to know about Idaho in news headlines during the past two days. Sun Valley's burning up, and there's a cloud over the entire state, according to its senior senator. The Boise Statesman is to blame for his demise, and you can find websites to find the best airports for soliciting sex, complete with manuals on how to tap out your code for the occupant in the stall next door.
Well, it could be worse. Our Senator could have been stung on Dateline-NBC's "To Catch a Predator." Then, we could have all watched the details rather than just seeing headlines such as "Terror in the Toilet."
I guess it's time to retreat from the outside news and get back to my garden. It's been staying out of trouble; in fact, it didn't even freeze the night before last. So, my cantaloupe are still threatening to mature. I helped them along by covering them with plastic bags and dirt when it felt like we might get bitten the other night. I never thought I'd see a cantaloupe grow, let a lone mature in my garden, but it's happening, and even Bill goes out there occasionally to inspect the melon progress.
He took most of my crook-neck squash to work yesterday, and apparently J.D. Pratt, who lives clear to hell and gone up Grouse Creek, took his share and issued a thank you. Last night, we ate the beans my sister-in-law was supposed to pick yesterday afternoon. She got behind on her "things to do" list, so bean-picking at the Lovestead moved down the list of priorities.
I picked those green beans off the plants, snapped off their heads and took them straight to the stove. After their steam bath, they swam around in a bath of Imperial margarine, cheddar cheese, salt, pepper and onion salt. When Bill dished up what he wanted, I went for my second helping and almost licked the pan clean. Then, I heard, "Are there any more of those beans?"
Too bad for Bill. He's been enjoying the fresh sweet corn too. We took a break from that last night, but I haven't taken a break this week from the coleslaw chopped from a big head of garden cabbage. I could eat that all day, and I noticed in the food section of the paper that coleslaw got the nod for featured dish today.
I've got tomatoes bigger than my cantaloupe. I've got half a dozen or so tomatoes that would have beaten the pants off my blue-ribbon tomatoes at the fair. These tomatoes are, without a doubt, the biggest tomatoes I've ever seen, even bigger than any I saw in my friend Betty Munis' Boise garden.
Would you believe she has more than 80 varieties of tomatoes, and most of them were ripe when I was down there Aug. 11. Betty has an annual tomato tasting party at her house every year. She also takes tomatoes to a local restaurant in return for gift certificates. Moreover, Betty and her hubby David own one of the four featured gardens on the Boise garden tour this summer----and my green tomatoes are far bigger than any of the thousands she's had hanging on her vines. So, I'm mighty proud.
I doubt my giant tomatoes would make any news headlines for our Gem State, but I'm thinking such a news item could make a welcome break from how we're gaining notoriety these days. Maybe our Miss Lily and Miss Annie Love news would be more alluring. Our Miss Lily is gonna be a pin-up girl. We learned yesterday that her photo, taken by our Miss Annie last Christmas, will be featured December 2008 on the upcoming Appaloosa calendar.
Speaking of Annie and that camera of hers, she snapped quite a picture of the full moon and included it in her latest collection of blog photos, all of which are much more appealing than Larry Craig's mug shot in this morning's Spokesman. So, check 'em out at (www.nnlove.blogspot.com/).
When that calendar with Miss Lily comes out, I'll be telling you where you can order it. For now, congratulations to Annie. We are proud of you. As for Larry, we're not.
Well, it could be worse. Our Senator could have been stung on Dateline-NBC's "To Catch a Predator." Then, we could have all watched the details rather than just seeing headlines such as "Terror in the Toilet."
I guess it's time to retreat from the outside news and get back to my garden. It's been staying out of trouble; in fact, it didn't even freeze the night before last. So, my cantaloupe are still threatening to mature. I helped them along by covering them with plastic bags and dirt when it felt like we might get bitten the other night. I never thought I'd see a cantaloupe grow, let a lone mature in my garden, but it's happening, and even Bill goes out there occasionally to inspect the melon progress.
He took most of my crook-neck squash to work yesterday, and apparently J.D. Pratt, who lives clear to hell and gone up Grouse Creek, took his share and issued a thank you. Last night, we ate the beans my sister-in-law was supposed to pick yesterday afternoon. She got behind on her "things to do" list, so bean-picking at the Lovestead moved down the list of priorities.
I picked those green beans off the plants, snapped off their heads and took them straight to the stove. After their steam bath, they swam around in a bath of Imperial margarine, cheddar cheese, salt, pepper and onion salt. When Bill dished up what he wanted, I went for my second helping and almost licked the pan clean. Then, I heard, "Are there any more of those beans?"
Too bad for Bill. He's been enjoying the fresh sweet corn too. We took a break from that last night, but I haven't taken a break this week from the coleslaw chopped from a big head of garden cabbage. I could eat that all day, and I noticed in the food section of the paper that coleslaw got the nod for featured dish today.
I've got tomatoes bigger than my cantaloupe. I've got half a dozen or so tomatoes that would have beaten the pants off my blue-ribbon tomatoes at the fair. These tomatoes are, without a doubt, the biggest tomatoes I've ever seen, even bigger than any I saw in my friend Betty Munis' Boise garden.
Would you believe she has more than 80 varieties of tomatoes, and most of them were ripe when I was down there Aug. 11. Betty has an annual tomato tasting party at her house every year. She also takes tomatoes to a local restaurant in return for gift certificates. Moreover, Betty and her hubby David own one of the four featured gardens on the Boise garden tour this summer----and my green tomatoes are far bigger than any of the thousands she's had hanging on her vines. So, I'm mighty proud.
I doubt my giant tomatoes would make any news headlines for our Gem State, but I'm thinking such a news item could make a welcome break from how we're gaining notoriety these days. Maybe our Miss Lily and Miss Annie Love news would be more alluring. Our Miss Lily is gonna be a pin-up girl. We learned yesterday that her photo, taken by our Miss Annie last Christmas, will be featured December 2008 on the upcoming Appaloosa calendar.
Speaking of Annie and that camera of hers, she snapped quite a picture of the full moon and included it in her latest collection of blog photos, all of which are much more appealing than Larry Craig's mug shot in this morning's Spokesman. So, check 'em out at (www.nnlove.blogspot.com/).
When that calendar with Miss Lily comes out, I'll be telling you where you can order it. For now, congratulations to Annie. We are proud of you. As for Larry, we're not.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Another institution bites the dust
I was talking about constants last week in one of my posts called "Faith and the Fair." I also talked in one post about visiting with Dr. Richard Benjamin, a New York writer, for a day. One of our conversations dealt with the perspective a lot of us in this area have. We tend to be the last hold-outs who believe in our institutions----and naively so. We crumble easily when those long-trusted institutions fail us. I told Rich I was admittedly naive to a lot of the hard-core, sleazy ways of the outside world.
I choose to be naive because to do otherwise takes too much time and energy away from the constants that sustain me like my animals, the natural world around me and my family. Plus, I choose to believe and to cling to the good in all beings until learning differently.
This conversation with Rich came up while telling him about those of us in Sandpoint who get downright hurt when people dismiss us by failing to establish eye contact, avoiding simple greetings like a wave or a hello, never saying thank you, or just plain thinking we're too stupid to have wisdom on any worldly subject.
Occasionally, that world outside of Sandpoint or even in our own midst comes slapping at us, letting us know that not all is picture perfect in our perceptions of trusted institutions. Those of us who are lifelong Catholics know the pain of learning that a lot of those holy folks telling us how to live our lives were living their own lives of deceit. Many of us struggle with that as we move along through life feeling continued sadness that one of the core institutions guiding us through our formative and young adult years was filled with extreme hypocrisy.
I feel the same sadness about the startling revelations reported yesterday about our United States Senator Larry Craig. Larry Craig served as ASUI president the year I was a senior at the University of Idaho. From that time on, I followed his career and steadfastly believed in him as a person who represented Idaho's best interests as he served our state in the U.S. Congress.
I did not know all the rumors about the Senator that some folks of a more worldly nature suggest were common knowledge. I'm just one of those dumb Idahoans who naively figured he was a good guy, just like the Catholic priests who taught us our moral and religious principles. After all, they were guided by God; they had to be good. I kinda felt the same about the Senator.
Silly me. One more time a hypocrite has been exposed and in such a seedy manner. The salacious details of Sen. Craig's arrest are bad enough, but his subsequent efforts to whitewash his arrest by pleading guilty and then saying he should have hired a lawyer before pleading guilty and that his overtures in the bathroom stall were misconstrued reek of a desperate soul.
We've read about many other desperate souls in positions of power and privilege who've bitten the dust, but most of them have come from the somewhere else's of our world. We live in Idaho where we prefer to think that sleaze, deceit and wiggling your way out of nasty fixes is a somewhere-else problem. Sadly, we're beginning to learn that the somewhere elses and their influences have come home to roost in what we always believed was a relatively safe haven from the ugly side of the world.
Our naivete will continue to haunt us as we scratch our heads one more time and wonder where we can place our beliefs. When will the next trusted leader bite the dust with some lurid revelation? How close will it come, and how much more of our trust in our institutions dissipate when that happens? Soon, we'll be just like the somewhere else's, and then there will be good reason not to smile.
Definitely lots to think about this morning as we digest yesterday's news.
I choose to be naive because to do otherwise takes too much time and energy away from the constants that sustain me like my animals, the natural world around me and my family. Plus, I choose to believe and to cling to the good in all beings until learning differently.
This conversation with Rich came up while telling him about those of us in Sandpoint who get downright hurt when people dismiss us by failing to establish eye contact, avoiding simple greetings like a wave or a hello, never saying thank you, or just plain thinking we're too stupid to have wisdom on any worldly subject.
Occasionally, that world outside of Sandpoint or even in our own midst comes slapping at us, letting us know that not all is picture perfect in our perceptions of trusted institutions. Those of us who are lifelong Catholics know the pain of learning that a lot of those holy folks telling us how to live our lives were living their own lives of deceit. Many of us struggle with that as we move along through life feeling continued sadness that one of the core institutions guiding us through our formative and young adult years was filled with extreme hypocrisy.
I feel the same sadness about the startling revelations reported yesterday about our United States Senator Larry Craig. Larry Craig served as ASUI president the year I was a senior at the University of Idaho. From that time on, I followed his career and steadfastly believed in him as a person who represented Idaho's best interests as he served our state in the U.S. Congress.
I did not know all the rumors about the Senator that some folks of a more worldly nature suggest were common knowledge. I'm just one of those dumb Idahoans who naively figured he was a good guy, just like the Catholic priests who taught us our moral and religious principles. After all, they were guided by God; they had to be good. I kinda felt the same about the Senator.
Silly me. One more time a hypocrite has been exposed and in such a seedy manner. The salacious details of Sen. Craig's arrest are bad enough, but his subsequent efforts to whitewash his arrest by pleading guilty and then saying he should have hired a lawyer before pleading guilty and that his overtures in the bathroom stall were misconstrued reek of a desperate soul.
We've read about many other desperate souls in positions of power and privilege who've bitten the dust, but most of them have come from the somewhere else's of our world. We live in Idaho where we prefer to think that sleaze, deceit and wiggling your way out of nasty fixes is a somewhere-else problem. Sadly, we're beginning to learn that the somewhere elses and their influences have come home to roost in what we always believed was a relatively safe haven from the ugly side of the world.
Our naivete will continue to haunt us as we scratch our heads one more time and wonder where we can place our beliefs. When will the next trusted leader bite the dust with some lurid revelation? How close will it come, and how much more of our trust in our institutions dissipate when that happens? Soon, we'll be just like the somewhere else's, and then there will be good reason not to smile.
Definitely lots to think about this morning as we digest yesterday's news.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Of babies, elderly enCAMPments, and family fun at the Fair
There's a load of photos on today's posting, but I think they're kinda fun and, in some cases, more than fun---just downright whimsical. So, enjoy this selection taken near the Tibbs farm and at the Tibbs farm where new little guys have a new blue toy.
This little Appaloosa deer stood and talked to me yesterday as I drove by Tina Stevens' driveway near my mother's house. I've never talked to a deer before, and a deer has never talked back, so it was a momentous occasion.
Earlier in the afternoon, Bill and I visited the Camp enCAMPment which turned 100 years old this year. By all admissions from Camp daughters, who penned part of the grand old home's history, it wasn't always so grand. One sentence in the collaborative text suggested that the home sat for a few years as the ugliest house in town with all its peeling brown paint.
But the Camps have done a masterful job restoring, remodeling and enhancing its historic grandeur. Bill thought they needed an old spike from the Humbird days since it was probably functioning full throttle about the same time, so Johanna gladly accepted.
Earlier this weekend many members of the Thompson and Tibbs clans gathered for an evening at the Bonner County Fair. There were the matriarchs and those ever-growing, always charming triplets along with tractors, talking and a little wheelchair dare-devil driving.
Fun weekend, for sure.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Sunday Slight
Bill, Marianne and Lily this week at the Lovestead. Beautiful Cabinet Mountains in the background. Photo, thanks to Rich Benjamin.
I'm feeling a tiny bit of relief. I know it's short-lived, but another Bonner County Fair has been put to bed, and a new season begins. It's called fall, even though the calendar says that doesn't start for another month. In the hearts of most folks around here, though, the fair serves as a good bye to summer. With its annual ending come thoughts of yellow school buses, football games, hopes for quieter times, and a return to routine. What could be more fall-like?
I have a couple of stories to finish this week. One is due tomorrow. Yesterday, I told Chris Bessler, publisher of Sandpoint Magazine, that I've finished 270 of the 300 words I'm supposed to write about C.J. Box's new book Blue Heaven. He said those last 30 words are always the hardest to write. I agreed.
I also said 300-word stories are also the hardest to write. No pun intended, but how does one "box" information about a best-selling author from Wyoming who's won lots of writing awards, who's coming out with a mystery thriller about North Idaho in 300 words. Well, I've almost done that, but I sure do like more space. So, I'll work on those last 30 words today and submit that story tomorrow.
I'm also working on an Appaloosa Journal assignment about a lady in California and a giant story (3,000 words) about the history of Panhandle Alliance for Education. There's time for both of them to unfold, but I like to get these stories under control before the next writing assignment adds to the load.
The book stuff may be winding down for a while after the past month of signings every weekend and four days' worth at the fair. I enjoyed reading the story about Don Albertson and his tuba solo moments on Thursday and a story from Pocket Girdles about my dad yesterday. After seeing the nice granite memorial with Harold Tibbs' name etched on it outside the main exhibit building, I decided he deserved to have his story told.
Bill and I are going to an unusual birthday party today. We received the invitation by phone from Kelsi Camp Friday night. Kelsi, her sisters and her folks are among the locals here in town who value history, so they're throwing a birthday party for their house. It turns 100 years old. I don't know if today is the exact anniversary date, but I do know it must have been completed in 1907 and that it has been luckier than a lot of houses around here. It has stories to tell, and they can still be told in its midst.
So, we're looking forward to helping them celebrate its centennial. Bill has a special present to give the house, but I don't want to spoil the surprise, so I'll save the details until tomorrow.
This week I'll be working on horses and stories. The Bonner County Fair Horse Show is this weekend. Lefty and Lily will be among the entrants. So, we'll be brushing, bathing and polishing all week long. Tom Selberg's coming to the Tibbs Arabians to trim baby hooves today, and John Fuller's coming to the Lovestead to trim Lily hooves tomorrow or Tuesday.
Plus, I must report that Miss Lily is gradually giving in to having her muzzle hair trimmed. It's been a slow process but she's deciding it's not all that bad, as long as I stick with the scissors. We've got a ways to go on clipping the long, fuzzy hair sticking out of her ears, but that will come with time and patience. At least, she won't have a beard for this upcoming show.
Lots going on as we move on toward fall, my favorite season of the year. It's a time of change in many ways, usually welcome changes from beastly hot summer days too. Happy Sunday to all. Have a great day.
I have a couple of stories to finish this week. One is due tomorrow. Yesterday, I told Chris Bessler, publisher of Sandpoint Magazine, that I've finished 270 of the 300 words I'm supposed to write about C.J. Box's new book Blue Heaven. He said those last 30 words are always the hardest to write. I agreed.
I also said 300-word stories are also the hardest to write. No pun intended, but how does one "box" information about a best-selling author from Wyoming who's won lots of writing awards, who's coming out with a mystery thriller about North Idaho in 300 words. Well, I've almost done that, but I sure do like more space. So, I'll work on those last 30 words today and submit that story tomorrow.
I'm also working on an Appaloosa Journal assignment about a lady in California and a giant story (3,000 words) about the history of Panhandle Alliance for Education. There's time for both of them to unfold, but I like to get these stories under control before the next writing assignment adds to the load.
The book stuff may be winding down for a while after the past month of signings every weekend and four days' worth at the fair. I enjoyed reading the story about Don Albertson and his tuba solo moments on Thursday and a story from Pocket Girdles about my dad yesterday. After seeing the nice granite memorial with Harold Tibbs' name etched on it outside the main exhibit building, I decided he deserved to have his story told.
Bill and I are going to an unusual birthday party today. We received the invitation by phone from Kelsi Camp Friday night. Kelsi, her sisters and her folks are among the locals here in town who value history, so they're throwing a birthday party for their house. It turns 100 years old. I don't know if today is the exact anniversary date, but I do know it must have been completed in 1907 and that it has been luckier than a lot of houses around here. It has stories to tell, and they can still be told in its midst.
So, we're looking forward to helping them celebrate its centennial. Bill has a special present to give the house, but I don't want to spoil the surprise, so I'll save the details until tomorrow.
This week I'll be working on horses and stories. The Bonner County Fair Horse Show is this weekend. Lefty and Lily will be among the entrants. So, we'll be brushing, bathing and polishing all week long. Tom Selberg's coming to the Tibbs Arabians to trim baby hooves today, and John Fuller's coming to the Lovestead to trim Lily hooves tomorrow or Tuesday.
Plus, I must report that Miss Lily is gradually giving in to having her muzzle hair trimmed. It's been a slow process but she's deciding it's not all that bad, as long as I stick with the scissors. We've got a ways to go on clipping the long, fuzzy hair sticking out of her ears, but that will come with time and patience. At least, she won't have a beard for this upcoming show.
Lots going on as we move on toward fall, my favorite season of the year. It's a time of change in many ways, usually welcome changes from beastly hot summer days too. Happy Sunday to all. Have a great day.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Luxury living in Hickville
I know I'm a dying breed here in Hickville. I know that because I read my catalog today. It's an insert and a bankroll for the Daily Blat. It's not enough anymore to have that slick full-color one pound Tomlinson-Black~Sotheby's publication to lure more rich folks, who don't need to worry about sub-prime mortgage rates, to Sandpoint.
Now, we have to have a slick, full-color half-pound Luxury Living (which puts out calls for more advertisers for the next edition) to remind us one more time of all the fine, exclusive gated communities gobbling up the old farms, country acreages and hicks around the area. I loved the picture of the place with three homes-- including the ugliest gaudy castle ever--- somewhere off the beaten Blue Creek path in Western Montana. Price: $3,850,000.
Why do they send these catalogs to all the hicks who read the Daily Bee? Do they think we actually associate with a bunch of rich friends living somewhere else whom we're going to call and say, "Come on over, bring your millions. The starving realtors have land for sale, and we're trying to help them make a buck.
"Besides, maybe if you buy one of those million-plus monstrosities, you'll invite us for dinner some night so we can be jealous of you and your castle. We promise to clean our boots, maybe even take 'em off so's we don't leave skid marks your fine Oriental rugs."
Sorry, but it makes me sick to have continued reminders of what's happening to God's Country; this place is definitely turning into "Gawd Almighty!" Country.
I saw more signs of that yesterday while passing by the old Upper Tibbs farm, which still has a fleet of heavy equipment sitting up there in the dirt (Has it been three years now?). I guess they are building a road up there so those poor saps who thought they'd found peaceful country living in Nick's subdivision behind the dirt pile will have a faster exit when they head off for town five miles out of their way whenever trains block the crossing.
Last night Bill wanted me to see some more heavy equipment farther on down the road south of our former home. There's the most humongous water tank I've ever seen sitting near Donnie and Kim Cox's former driveway, and there's a fleet of heavy equipment parked in the recently excavated expanse that would sure make Perry Palmer jealous. On second thought, I doubt Perry Palmer cares.
We can't quite figure out what they're doing there. They started mid-week, and whatever they're doing, it's happening mighty fast. Must be the rich folks buying into the luxury airpark are faunching at the bit to get in there with their personal jets and their aviation castles. My only thought was to thank God. Thank you, God, for getting us out of there a year ago so we didn't have to watch any more desecration of what was once a pastoral, beautiful area.
I heard a wild rumor yesterday, but the problem I've noted is that the wild rumors about this area sadly do come true. The word is that someone with lots of bucks is buying up private land in the Pack River drainage, specifically Caribou Creek and Roman Nose, with hopes of establishing more skiing facilities in the Selkirks from Schweitzer to Bonners Ferry. When I repeated the rumor to a few people (actually two), they pooh poohed the possibilities. Too much Forest Service land up there, they said.
I don't know when all this stuff is gonna stop, but I do know there are some folks banking on the fact that it keeps up---'specially those folks at the Daily Blat, who are reaping the benefits of all these speculative land situations which will eventually rid this area of all the undesirable hicks who---in their own ignorant, back woods ways and with no locked gates---kept it a heckuva a lot prettier than it is now.
Eventually Gawd Almighty Country will belong to a bunch of rich someone else's, who can sit around in their castles behind their gates and impress each other with their wealth. What a pretty picture that will be!
Now, we have to have a slick, full-color half-pound Luxury Living (which puts out calls for more advertisers for the next edition) to remind us one more time of all the fine, exclusive gated communities gobbling up the old farms, country acreages and hicks around the area. I loved the picture of the place with three homes-- including the ugliest gaudy castle ever--- somewhere off the beaten Blue Creek path in Western Montana. Price: $3,850,000.
Why do they send these catalogs to all the hicks who read the Daily Bee? Do they think we actually associate with a bunch of rich friends living somewhere else whom we're going to call and say, "Come on over, bring your millions. The starving realtors have land for sale, and we're trying to help them make a buck.
"Besides, maybe if you buy one of those million-plus monstrosities, you'll invite us for dinner some night so we can be jealous of you and your castle. We promise to clean our boots, maybe even take 'em off so's we don't leave skid marks your fine Oriental rugs."
Sorry, but it makes me sick to have continued reminders of what's happening to God's Country; this place is definitely turning into "Gawd Almighty!" Country.
I saw more signs of that yesterday while passing by the old Upper Tibbs farm, which still has a fleet of heavy equipment sitting up there in the dirt (Has it been three years now?). I guess they are building a road up there so those poor saps who thought they'd found peaceful country living in Nick's subdivision behind the dirt pile will have a faster exit when they head off for town five miles out of their way whenever trains block the crossing.
Last night Bill wanted me to see some more heavy equipment farther on down the road south of our former home. There's the most humongous water tank I've ever seen sitting near Donnie and Kim Cox's former driveway, and there's a fleet of heavy equipment parked in the recently excavated expanse that would sure make Perry Palmer jealous. On second thought, I doubt Perry Palmer cares.
We can't quite figure out what they're doing there. They started mid-week, and whatever they're doing, it's happening mighty fast. Must be the rich folks buying into the luxury airpark are faunching at the bit to get in there with their personal jets and their aviation castles. My only thought was to thank God. Thank you, God, for getting us out of there a year ago so we didn't have to watch any more desecration of what was once a pastoral, beautiful area.
I heard a wild rumor yesterday, but the problem I've noted is that the wild rumors about this area sadly do come true. The word is that someone with lots of bucks is buying up private land in the Pack River drainage, specifically Caribou Creek and Roman Nose, with hopes of establishing more skiing facilities in the Selkirks from Schweitzer to Bonners Ferry. When I repeated the rumor to a few people (actually two), they pooh poohed the possibilities. Too much Forest Service land up there, they said.
I don't know when all this stuff is gonna stop, but I do know there are some folks banking on the fact that it keeps up---'specially those folks at the Daily Blat, who are reaping the benefits of all these speculative land situations which will eventually rid this area of all the undesirable hicks who---in their own ignorant, back woods ways and with no locked gates---kept it a heckuva a lot prettier than it is now.
Eventually Gawd Almighty Country will belong to a bunch of rich someone else's, who can sit around in their castles behind their gates and impress each other with their wealth. What a pretty picture that will be!
Friday, August 24, 2007
Faith and the Fair
I have faith in the fair. I know that certain givens will happen every year at our local fair. I know that it's the place where I can return to my roots. As much as the fair has changed over the years, some aspects have not changed at all. McNalls, Woods and Albertsons always make up a good share of the demographics. The hotdog and sauerkraut folks will be there in their stand near the indoor arena for Rose Marie and me to enjoy our annual bratfest. The former owner saw to it that not one brat skipped a beat when the new owners took over.
Elephant ears will still command a line-up at the Beta Sig food booth. Hordes of teenagers will be wander the grounds, looking for action from other hordes of teenagers. Inside display booths will offer lots of ways to sign up for something free, with strings attached. You can count on hearing from the folks who urged you to sign up and not necessarily to claim your prize.
The fair serves as a microcosm for the constants of Bonner County. Kids are constantly enrolling in 4-H to learn about everything from pocket pets to electronics. The hinterland folks will reappear every year from all nooks and crannies in the county. Some may have more wrinkles; some may be riding in wheelchairs; some may have grown a foot since last year; some may be mere shadows of their original beings cuz health concerns have demanded pushing away the plate. Some may be still fighting those ornery cows in show rings long past when common sense says ya oughta hang it up. Lots of folks will be standing around visiting with lots of other folks they haven't seen in a year.
I have faith in the fair because I can count on the above, along with a lot of other perennial expectations. Last year, I lost a little faith in the fair when I showed up with my dog on a leash and was directed to get her out of the main exhibit building. This was the same dog I had bought as a puppy at the fair the year before. The moment of reprimand was uncomfortable and embarrassing, so I took my dog home and did not return.
It hurt to know that a place where I'd been so welcome all my life would so suddenly turn into a place where I did not wish to return-----all because of a little-known rule change. I had that same feeling one day in my church while sitting in a folding chair in the same corner where I'd sat for years. I was ordered to move, not asked. I folded up my chair and went home, never feeling quite the same about returning to this place where I'd frequented since birth, a setting where constants had always been much like those I enjoyed at the fair.
So, why bring this up? Go back to the title: faith and the fair. Yesterday, after returning from a good day at the fair (I don't take my dog anymore, so I feel welcome), I checked the news headlines. Later, I heard the story: Mother Teresa doubted her faith---often and over a long period of years. Talk about media destroying an idol which media had created. The story did not end with this revelation. The story also included an interview with a priest who'd published a book with the writings of Mother Teresa, which clearly revealed her doubts.
The priest maintains that this is all the more reason to consider this little lady, so well known for her good works, a saint. In spite of her doubt, she moved forward, continuing to do good works, continuing as an inspirational example throughout the world. For a moment after watching this report, just like those moments at the fair and in my church, I lost faith. Then, I thought about it. We all lose faith at times, but we continue to move forward, doing the best we can in spite of our doubts.
I have returned to the fair this year, and I'm having a good time with the constants that make me feel like I've come home. Granted, I became a doubter in the annual institution that I'd loved so much over the years, but I have come back. And, I'm enjoying the fair more than ever. I'm trying to do the same with my church. It is hard at times, but I still try to do my best in spite of the strong doubts that seem to surround me.
Mother Teresa may have doubted, but she also "did." And, that to me is what's important. The constants that we believe in so deeply may disappoint us at times, but our human spirit and need to keep "working at it" somehow project us forward.
So, faith and the fair were items of great interest yesterday. I still believe Mother Teresa deserves sainthood, and I still believe in the fair. The constants in our lives far exceed the flaws which occasionally upset our apple cart.
Elephant ears will still command a line-up at the Beta Sig food booth. Hordes of teenagers will be wander the grounds, looking for action from other hordes of teenagers. Inside display booths will offer lots of ways to sign up for something free, with strings attached. You can count on hearing from the folks who urged you to sign up and not necessarily to claim your prize.
The fair serves as a microcosm for the constants of Bonner County. Kids are constantly enrolling in 4-H to learn about everything from pocket pets to electronics. The hinterland folks will reappear every year from all nooks and crannies in the county. Some may have more wrinkles; some may be riding in wheelchairs; some may have grown a foot since last year; some may be mere shadows of their original beings cuz health concerns have demanded pushing away the plate. Some may be still fighting those ornery cows in show rings long past when common sense says ya oughta hang it up. Lots of folks will be standing around visiting with lots of other folks they haven't seen in a year.
I have faith in the fair because I can count on the above, along with a lot of other perennial expectations. Last year, I lost a little faith in the fair when I showed up with my dog on a leash and was directed to get her out of the main exhibit building. This was the same dog I had bought as a puppy at the fair the year before. The moment of reprimand was uncomfortable and embarrassing, so I took my dog home and did not return.
It hurt to know that a place where I'd been so welcome all my life would so suddenly turn into a place where I did not wish to return-----all because of a little-known rule change. I had that same feeling one day in my church while sitting in a folding chair in the same corner where I'd sat for years. I was ordered to move, not asked. I folded up my chair and went home, never feeling quite the same about returning to this place where I'd frequented since birth, a setting where constants had always been much like those I enjoyed at the fair.
So, why bring this up? Go back to the title: faith and the fair. Yesterday, after returning from a good day at the fair (I don't take my dog anymore, so I feel welcome), I checked the news headlines. Later, I heard the story: Mother Teresa doubted her faith---often and over a long period of years. Talk about media destroying an idol which media had created. The story did not end with this revelation. The story also included an interview with a priest who'd published a book with the writings of Mother Teresa, which clearly revealed her doubts.
The priest maintains that this is all the more reason to consider this little lady, so well known for her good works, a saint. In spite of her doubt, she moved forward, continuing to do good works, continuing as an inspirational example throughout the world. For a moment after watching this report, just like those moments at the fair and in my church, I lost faith. Then, I thought about it. We all lose faith at times, but we continue to move forward, doing the best we can in spite of our doubts.
I have returned to the fair this year, and I'm having a good time with the constants that make me feel like I've come home. Granted, I became a doubter in the annual institution that I'd loved so much over the years, but I have come back. And, I'm enjoying the fair more than ever. I'm trying to do the same with my church. It is hard at times, but I still try to do my best in spite of the strong doubts that seem to surround me.
Mother Teresa may have doubted, but she also "did." And, that to me is what's important. The constants that we believe in so deeply may disappoint us at times, but our human spirit and need to keep "working at it" somehow project us forward.
So, faith and the fair were items of great interest yesterday. I still believe Mother Teresa deserves sainthood, and I still believe in the fair. The constants in our lives far exceed the flaws which occasionally upset our apple cart.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
A satisfying day with the young doctor
I had an opportunity to show off a bit yesterday. Well, I wasn't showing off myself. I was showing off a segment of the wonderful life I live and the people with whom I interact. This show-off time started and ended at the county fairgrounds. It included drives through my old neighborhood and my new neighborhood, followed by dinner at Slate's.
My guest yesterday hails from New York City. He's a young man who showed up at my Hastings book event in Coeur d'Alene last month. At the time, I thought he was a high school student who had accidentally stumbled in and figured he ought to stay. Later, I learned he was actually 29 and that his visit to the reading was deliberate. I also began to learn a little about this amazing individual, schooled with wonderful manners and blessed with a warm, friendly, engaging personality.
Rich Benjamin should formally be known as Dr. Richard Benjamin, senior fellow at Demos, a New York-based think tank. Rich Benjamin, though, seems perfectly comfortable hanging out with the crowd in cargo pants, tenny runners, polo shirt, and baseball cap, toting along a digital camera and doing a lot of focused listening. Rich got an earful and then some while hanging out with me at the fair.
"Those rich buzzards have come here and raised our taxes," one elderly local told him, while another just kept repeating to any of the hordes of newcomers who keep populating up the place to "Go away, go away!" Though he didn't jot down details, Rich remembered virtually all he heard yesterday. His listening skills and ability to digest specific information is nothing short of phenomenal. I know cuz I quizzed him from time to time. He's also done some pretty thorough homework on the area.
His visit yesterday mirrors many other encounters he's had while temporarily living in North Idaho to study the effects of migration from big cities to some carefully-plotted boom/dream centers across the country. Previous to North Idaho, Rich visited St. George, Utah. He's not sure where the third area will be but will decide after returning to his office in New York. All this information will turn into the text for a book about the migrational phenomena and how they're affecting each area.
My day spent with Rich was invigorating, mainly because I detected a genuine, sincere interest in his quest to learn about our area and its people. And, as the people, like Sen. George Eskridge and Jim Thompson, talked, Rich listened, gaining distinct and unfiltered impressions of each individual's general concerns. He also observed and collected a lot of photographs with that digital camera. He met Todd Book, who suffered a brain injury in a car accident more than 20 years ago. Rich listened as Todd proudly told me that he's now an assistant cubmaster, teaching young boys about using a compass and tying knots.
Rich met Carole and Amy at Keokee Books. He met Osazee (sp) a 12-year-old budding author who, I might say, has a gift. When I get her name spelled right, I'll tell you more about the novel she's writing. She, by the way, is Kiersten Nordgaarden's daughter, Glen and Ruthann's granddaughter. She also won a championship with her sheep. Rich had his picture taken with the sheep. He had his picture taken with Todd.
Later, when he met Lefty and Dusty, he handed the camera to my sister Laurie for another picture with the two babies. He scanned my mother's paintings hanging around her house and told her he liked the seascape with the two men and the boat best. She told him those two men were the most important men in her life, her husband and her brother. He also told me later that my mother looks and acts like a pretty young 86-year-old.
We moved on to the Lovestead, where Kiwi and Annie greeted this dog lover who says if people don't like dogs, he doesn't care to be around them. Bill and Rich connected immediately, and, of course, Bill took him to the Lodgepole tree to sign the log. Rich took a final photo of Bill and me in one of the pastures with Lily and the house in the background. Then, we went to Slate's and talked more.
We dropped him off at his car in the fairgrounds parking lot, hating to say good bye. Bill and I both agreed we'd met someone very special. We had a chance to show off what means so much to us and to our many friends, and I have a feeling Rich went home, feeling a bit of that same passion he saw throughout the day.
My guest yesterday hails from New York City. He's a young man who showed up at my Hastings book event in Coeur d'Alene last month. At the time, I thought he was a high school student who had accidentally stumbled in and figured he ought to stay. Later, I learned he was actually 29 and that his visit to the reading was deliberate. I also began to learn a little about this amazing individual, schooled with wonderful manners and blessed with a warm, friendly, engaging personality.
Rich Benjamin should formally be known as Dr. Richard Benjamin, senior fellow at Demos, a New York-based think tank. Rich Benjamin, though, seems perfectly comfortable hanging out with the crowd in cargo pants, tenny runners, polo shirt, and baseball cap, toting along a digital camera and doing a lot of focused listening. Rich got an earful and then some while hanging out with me at the fair.
"Those rich buzzards have come here and raised our taxes," one elderly local told him, while another just kept repeating to any of the hordes of newcomers who keep populating up the place to "Go away, go away!" Though he didn't jot down details, Rich remembered virtually all he heard yesterday. His listening skills and ability to digest specific information is nothing short of phenomenal. I know cuz I quizzed him from time to time. He's also done some pretty thorough homework on the area.
His visit yesterday mirrors many other encounters he's had while temporarily living in North Idaho to study the effects of migration from big cities to some carefully-plotted boom/dream centers across the country. Previous to North Idaho, Rich visited St. George, Utah. He's not sure where the third area will be but will decide after returning to his office in New York. All this information will turn into the text for a book about the migrational phenomena and how they're affecting each area.
My day spent with Rich was invigorating, mainly because I detected a genuine, sincere interest in his quest to learn about our area and its people. And, as the people, like Sen. George Eskridge and Jim Thompson, talked, Rich listened, gaining distinct and unfiltered impressions of each individual's general concerns. He also observed and collected a lot of photographs with that digital camera. He met Todd Book, who suffered a brain injury in a car accident more than 20 years ago. Rich listened as Todd proudly told me that he's now an assistant cubmaster, teaching young boys about using a compass and tying knots.
Rich met Carole and Amy at Keokee Books. He met Osazee (sp) a 12-year-old budding author who, I might say, has a gift. When I get her name spelled right, I'll tell you more about the novel she's writing. She, by the way, is Kiersten Nordgaarden's daughter, Glen and Ruthann's granddaughter. She also won a championship with her sheep. Rich had his picture taken with the sheep. He had his picture taken with Todd.
Later, when he met Lefty and Dusty, he handed the camera to my sister Laurie for another picture with the two babies. He scanned my mother's paintings hanging around her house and told her he liked the seascape with the two men and the boat best. She told him those two men were the most important men in her life, her husband and her brother. He also told me later that my mother looks and acts like a pretty young 86-year-old.
We moved on to the Lovestead, where Kiwi and Annie greeted this dog lover who says if people don't like dogs, he doesn't care to be around them. Bill and Rich connected immediately, and, of course, Bill took him to the Lodgepole tree to sign the log. Rich took a final photo of Bill and me in one of the pastures with Lily and the house in the background. Then, we went to Slate's and talked more.
We dropped him off at his car in the fairgrounds parking lot, hating to say good bye. Bill and I both agreed we'd met someone very special. We had a chance to show off what means so much to us and to our many friends, and I have a feeling Rich went home, feeling a bit of that same passion he saw throughout the day.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
A Fair week
Blogger.com was down earlier today, so my posting is running late today. I did have time to run over and visit with Lefty and Dusty-----also Barbara and Laurie. Smart little guys. They lead all over the place. They're calm as can be for just one day out away from their moms. We think we have a couple of winners. Only problem is we don't get much done cuz we want to just stand there and look at them and their every move. Anyway, on to today's posting . . . .
Two days of rain, and now the sky is blue. Looks like we’ve got some fair weather ahead, and that’s good in Bonner County. Ranchers are, no doubt, happy to see the fall pastures get a much needed liquid boost. So, I’m sure talk at the Bonner County Fair this week can focus on how the kids are doing with their fat stock and who’s going to win the fitting and showing contests.
That all starts today as the Fair officially opens on this beautiful August morning. There has already been activity. Yesterday, they closed off the main exhibit building so an army of judges could inspect open class and 4-H entries that line the tables, display cases and bulletin boards throughout the huge building.
I sneaked down there last night and made the rounds to see how my squash, beans, tomatoes and two plates of cookies faired. Well, two ribbons-----nothing on squash, beans or snickerdoodles. I was surprised about the squash; am gonna have to see what makes a crook neck look like a good crook neck. I selected the one from the bush that had the best crook neck, so I’m guessing the judges don’t put a lot of weight on anatomy.
My Appaloosa cookies earned a second place red ribbon. Maybe, in the future, if I tell people they’re only red ribbon cookies they won’t eat so many and the cookies can last longer. I doubt the red ribbon will stop Bill from packing them in his lunches, and I suspect the folks at the Journal will still gladly accept any handouts I send down that way.
Now, let’s talk ‘maters. I’ve got ‘mater bushes almost taller than I am. And, on those bushes that have not been pinched are dozens and dozens of green fruits, many of super size. I picked out five moderately large tomatoes and was not surprised to see a blue ribbon draped over them last night. Of course, I’ll brag about my BLUE RIBBON tomatoes, and I’m sure when they all start ripening, I may even offer a few for any tomato-challenged folks out there who love that mouth-watering flavor straight off the vine.
Speaking of vines, this paragraph goes directly to Dr. Richard Neuder and to my Coeur d’Alene friend Florine Dooley: the Lovestead cantaloupes continue to increase in size. They’re three-four inches in diameter now, and I’m planning to set up a shelter for them once the overnight temps head downward. So far, so good. I never dreamed I’d see a cantaloupe when I planted those seeds last March, but things are looking good. Dr. Neuder probably doesn’t know this, but he inspired me to think about cantaloupe a few years ago when the topic came up in a retirement column I wrote about him. And, Florine appears to be a cantaloupe cheerleader---or is it musk melon?
I still don’t know how my friend Jenny did with her cookies in the competition. The cookie plates were stuffed in the display cases like sardines, and I was lucky to finally find my ribbon-challenged snickerdoodles. So, the suspense continues, and I’m sure that when I see Jenny at the Fair today, we’ll know who’s the official cookie champion in the Love-Meyer bake-off for 2007. I know she wants to win, and I hope she does because I won’t mind sampling cookies better than my Appaloosa variety.
My sisters did okay with their photographs, taking ribbons on almost all ten photos submitted. It didn’t win a blue ribbon, but there’s a great action shot of Kiwi and Pita, taken when we went on the hike to the Scout near Canuck Basin last month. Barbara snapped a fun face shot of Pita, which won a blue. As usual, there’s some great photography to enjoy in this year’s display.
It’s a perfect story for the fair because it features my longtime friend Don Albertson who’s probably attended the Bonner County Fair every year of his life----and I believe he’s 70 this year. Don’s behavior during a tuba solo many years ago was worse than mine. Can anyone imagine such a possibility?
See you at the Fair.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Lefty reports from the front
Hi,
Lefty's my name. Imp stuff's my game.
I arrived at Tibbs Arabians yesterday with my pal Dusty. He's pretty unimpressed. All he wants to do is eat.
But I like people, getting into trouble and I talk a lot, just like my new mom.
I was a bit confused when Jane and her helpers put me in the barn with my mom. Then, more people came. Then, my new mom came up to the gate and started talking silly talk with me. A while later, she scrunched me in the corner and stuck a halter on me for the first time ever. I didn't really like that so I reared a couple of times. Then, all those people came and started pushing me out of the stall, leaving my mother behind.
Then, they pushed me toward the trailer. I had no choice but to jump in. Then, they did the same thing to my pal Dusty. He didn't want to come, but he finally jumped in, and I reared again, thinking they'd stop all this foolishness. They didn't. They petted us for a few minutes, then left the trailer and slammed the door in our faces. I didn't like that either. I yelled for my mom, and I could hear her yelling for me, but then I heard a car start up, and I could feel us moving. Then, I couldn't hear my mom anymore.
We moved for a long, long time, and I yelled for a while but when nobody yelled back, I finally shut up. Then, we stopped. All the sudden I saw those two women's faces peeking through the bars at us. They kept doing all that goofy talk like "Oh, they're so cute." Then, they stuck their hands in and tried to pet us, but I decided to pick on Dusty. He didn't like that and put his ears back. Then, we started moving again. We did that for a while, stopped once more and there were those faces staring at us again.
We stopped a third time. That was at a cemetery, where I heard my new mom tell me to whinny and say hello to Harold. I'd whinnied enough by then, so I just kept my mouth shut, but I knew it was an important time. I knew they were showing us off to a fine old horseman, and I'm sure he smiled in his slumber.
We stopped a fourth time, and I could hear strange horses whinnying. Then, I saw another strange lady, who looked a bit familiar, open the door to the trailer. She and her sister snapped lead ropes on us, and we jumped out of the trailer. I reared a couple of times, but that didn't do any good. They just kept telling us to move toward that big red building. Then, my new mom grabbed my lead rope, and that third sister went inside the red building. Suddenly, this great big brown, black and white horse came out and scared us. I figured I'd better mind my manners with him cuz he looked like he was gonna bite me.
She led him back into the building, and Dusty followed him. I stood in my tracks for quite a while and yelled for my mom. She didn't come, so I figured I might as well follow the new mom into the building. It was huge. There was a golf cart sitting in the big open space, and another lady with white hair had a big smile on her face when we walked up to say hello. Finally, those women let us loose, and we went around smelling every pile of apples, hoping to smell our mothers.
I guess we won't see our mothers again, but we sure had a lot of loving last night. We also figured out that leading stuff and even trotted with our new moms a few times. I like the big building. It has lots of stuff to get into, and I can run really fast after I bite Dusty on the withers and he turns around to get me back. He can't catch me, but he doesn't care any way cuz he likes the food here.
I think this place is gonna be okay. I miss my mom, but I'm getting the impression, I'll have some pretty good substitutes.
Talk to you later. I gotta go eat my breakfast and harass Dusty.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Going to see a lady about a horse
Well, today is Lefty and Dusty Day. Soon, Barbara and I will head east toward Ronan, Montana, which sits at the base of the magnificent Mission Mountains. If any country were prettier than Sandpoint, I'd say Ronan, St. Ignatius and the like could compete. The scene from Ravenwood Ranch, where Lefty and Dusty came into the world four months ago, fits in the "drop dead gorgeous" category: rolling irrigated farm fields skirted by a line of jagged high mountain peaks.
Of course, Jane, the ranch owner, has been telling us about the smoke. The Montana fires south of Missoula and near Seely Lake have mounted to the thousands of acres, and with that situation has come days and days of smoke. Hopefully, yesterday's rain helped rid the air of most of it---if yesterday's rain made it to Montana, that is. We got a welcome downpour here.
We're excited to get over there to Ravenwood, to pick up the little guys and to head them back to their new homes. We don't know how halter broke they are. If not, they'll get a quick lesson and maybe a tug with a butt rope or two. Barbara and Laurie's horse trailer is padded to the hilt so they should have a safe and comfy ride back to Sandpoint.
I told Bill that if I'm not home when he gets home this afternoon, I'm either enroute or over there at the Colburn farm, playing with babies. I added that he needed to come over to see them, to which he commented, "I'm anxious to see the new driveway."
Well, that's pretty exciting too. The Tibbs network of driveways took a soaring leap of improvement this past week as Sandpoint's finest grader man, Perry Palmer, looked them over and figured out what needed to be done to eliminate the soaring leap many drivers have taken over the years when they've hit ground with their car bottoms. No more holes, not more bumped heads.
The driveways run smooth as silk now, thanks to Perry. Laurie said yesterday while coming in from Spokane with trailer hooked on behind that she didn't have to plan her attack. She could just drive in without veering to the left or right, hitting tree limbs, to avoid the bumps. So, yes, thanks to Perry's expertise, Bill will have three marvels to behold when he goes to the Colburn farm for a visit this afternoon: Lefty, Dusty and Smoothie (that's the driveway). And, that's in no particular order.
I think all three will make us all happy for a long, long time.
Breaking News: Well, maybe it's not breaking, but it's definitely news that won't break anyone's heart. Word on the street is that parking fees will NOT be charged for this year's Bonner County Fair.
There was word on the street for most of the summer saying there would be a fee, $2 per day per car, but I've heard that the powers that make up parking fee ideas held back on that plan. Maybe they heard the ground swelling all over Bonner County with lots of grumbling. Anyway, that's good news. So, see you at the fair this week.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Fair cookies
This is Bonner County Fair week, and the contest is on! My friend Jenny and I have agreed to square off in a hot competition in the cookie department. I can't even remember how it started. That doesn't matter. What matters is that we win. A lot of times they might give more than one blue ribbon, so it's possible we can both come home happy.
Actually, there's no losing in this contest. First, to get a plate of good cookies, a batch with lots of samples to choose from must be made. With my snickerdoodles yesterday, I tried three different methods to get the best-shaped, best tasting products possible. I tried molding them to make them perfectly round; that bunch came out of the oven too flat and too fakey looking. Who wants to eat a fakey cookie?
I stuck a little nutmeg and less than a pinch of cloves in with the sugar and cinnamon coating. When that didn't seem to have enough zip, I added more cinnamon. I also resorted to just dropping them on the sheet with a spoon and knife and praying for some well-shaped results. In between oven segments and while I was out of the kitchen, Bill snatched one. He assured me later that his pilfered sample had an "imperfect" top.
When the batch was finished, about a dozen cookies could be considered for assembling the most uniform collection. I'll decide that later today. Once the selection period has ended, we have more than two dozen tasty snickerdoodles to feed on for the next week or two.
I'm also entering my Appaloosa cookies in the Fair. I used to call them Cedar Post cookies, but since they're spotted and since I work for a different publication than the high school newspaper these days, they became Appaloosa cookies. In fact, the folks down at the Appaloosa Journal like them so much, they even included the recipe in a recent edition. I'm not divulging the secrets until AFTER the Fair and only IF they get a blue ribbon.
Most folks who've tried the Appaloosa cookies tend to remember them. So, I'm hoping that string will continue when the judges bite into one from yesterday's batch this Tuesday at the Fair. Bill has sampled one or two, and I've sampled three or four. They'll do. Even if they don't win a blue ribbon, they'll get eaten. We've got almost three dozen of them left for upcoming nibbling.
I'm sure Jenny's family has been enjoying the rewards of this Bonner County Fair cookie stand-off as much as Bill has. I've eaten Jenny's cookies before, and I know I'm up against a formidable foe. She's got the touch; ya can't eat just one of Jenny's cookies. So, the judges are in for a treat, for sure.
We'll both win, regardless of ribbons, because of the spirit of this competition. Jenny stays alive because of chemo-therapy and a strong, stubborn will to win. I'd like to think a little cookie competition with an admiring friend at the Fair may help too!
Good luck, to my friend and hero, Jenny. When this is over, we'd better save a couple of those extras, sit down on one of those benches in the main exhibit building, eat our cookies and revel in how great life can be, especially at the Fair.
Actually, there's no losing in this contest. First, to get a plate of good cookies, a batch with lots of samples to choose from must be made. With my snickerdoodles yesterday, I tried three different methods to get the best-shaped, best tasting products possible. I tried molding them to make them perfectly round; that bunch came out of the oven too flat and too fakey looking. Who wants to eat a fakey cookie?
I stuck a little nutmeg and less than a pinch of cloves in with the sugar and cinnamon coating. When that didn't seem to have enough zip, I added more cinnamon. I also resorted to just dropping them on the sheet with a spoon and knife and praying for some well-shaped results. In between oven segments and while I was out of the kitchen, Bill snatched one. He assured me later that his pilfered sample had an "imperfect" top.
When the batch was finished, about a dozen cookies could be considered for assembling the most uniform collection. I'll decide that later today. Once the selection period has ended, we have more than two dozen tasty snickerdoodles to feed on for the next week or two.
I'm also entering my Appaloosa cookies in the Fair. I used to call them Cedar Post cookies, but since they're spotted and since I work for a different publication than the high school newspaper these days, they became Appaloosa cookies. In fact, the folks down at the Appaloosa Journal like them so much, they even included the recipe in a recent edition. I'm not divulging the secrets until AFTER the Fair and only IF they get a blue ribbon.
Most folks who've tried the Appaloosa cookies tend to remember them. So, I'm hoping that string will continue when the judges bite into one from yesterday's batch this Tuesday at the Fair. Bill has sampled one or two, and I've sampled three or four. They'll do. Even if they don't win a blue ribbon, they'll get eaten. We've got almost three dozen of them left for upcoming nibbling.
I'm sure Jenny's family has been enjoying the rewards of this Bonner County Fair cookie stand-off as much as Bill has. I've eaten Jenny's cookies before, and I know I'm up against a formidable foe. She's got the touch; ya can't eat just one of Jenny's cookies. So, the judges are in for a treat, for sure.
We'll both win, regardless of ribbons, because of the spirit of this competition. Jenny stays alive because of chemo-therapy and a strong, stubborn will to win. I'd like to think a little cookie competition with an admiring friend at the Fair may help too!
Good luck, to my friend and hero, Jenny. When this is over, we'd better save a couple of those extras, sit down on one of those benches in the main exhibit building, eat our cookies and revel in how great life can be, especially at the Fair.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Saturday Slight
Well, we've watched the stock market zigzag this week. We've seen heart-breaking tragedy overshadow tragedy in the Utah mine disaster. The space shuttle seems to be okay; of course, it hasn't come back to earth yet, and there's a hurricane that might get in its way.
There's an NFL quarterback who seems to be playing dodgeball in taking responsibility for his cruel and inhumane hobby with dogs. Seattle's Mariners continue to hang in there in second place, and the Cubs now sit atop their division of the National League. Tomorrow it rains. Maybe we'll luck out and won't see smoke or fires around this area.
The cool morning air is signaling an end to a long, hot summer----one with no zucchini at the Lovestead, lots of blossoms but no squash. My crook necks, though, are multiplying like rabbits, so much so that I gave 'em as door prizes at the Auntie's event last night. Some folks didn't get them because my senior memory of having picked the squash yesterday morning and putting them in my book bag failed to kick in until halfway through the signing.
Once it did, though, and I'd added an assortment of free Lovestead veggies to the book pile, the Auntie's crowd came alive, knowing they'd go home with "something gleaned." One person, however, apparently didn't appreciate the gesture and stuffed the gift squash on a book shelf while leaving the store. It was soon discovered by a store employee who was signing off for the night.
"There's a crook-neck squash here on the shelf," she announced across the room to her fellow workers.
"There are more over here," I yelled while autographing a book. She came to the table and took all that remained.
"I'll eat a crook neck any day," she said as she left for the night. Lois, the events coordinator, got a particularly artistic hand-out. Hers was darker orange and had more wrinkles than the others. At first, I gave Pat McManus an iddy biddy yellow runt, but it did have a pretty blossom. Later, I felt bad and pulled out a bigger model from my bag and handed it over to him. His wife Darlene seemed pleased that they'd come to hear Marianne and got to go home with a squash.
I got rid of a lot of squash last night because I know Bill and I cannot eat all those that keep popping out from the heart of that one huge plant. Now, I just don't know what the deal is with the zucchini. I've seen this phenomenon before---when there are all those blossoms but no fruit. This is unusual for zucchini because it has a reputation for being prolific. Maybe this is just a crook-neck year.
There was good news at the signing last night. Susie Short came. She graduated in the mid-'80s. She has six kids and almost a doctorate. Now, how many modern-day women could claim that? I was mighty proud to hear of Susie's achievements. We both agreed she'd been busy. I got to see Pam Stangel from Class of 1989. She looks great. And, Sig Thompson from Class of 1972 seemed to enjoy hearing the pie-eating story which featured her friend Kent Compton.
We had a great time afterward at Cyrus O'Leary's with my former colleague and good friend Marian Whitfield. She brought along a mother-daughter teaching team from Cheney. After sharing a few well-polished zingers from our Sandpoint High days, we parted company and headed for home. After all, Bill had to report to Bonners Ferry at 6 a.m. for fire duty. Arriving home at 12:30 a.m., I checked the telephone messages, and there was welcome news for Bill.
"Bill, you're being de-mobed," Mary Ann Hamilton said. That meant no need to get up quite so early. He has to head up there later this morning and sign out. Maybe, just maybe, this will be the end of his fire duty for 2007. It all depends on how much rain drops from the sky tomorrow.
It's Saturday, and I haven't gone to coffee cult in about two months. So, I think I'd better resurface and find out some of the local gossip. Hope everyone has a great weekend and that the news starts improving. Happy weekend.
There's an NFL quarterback who seems to be playing dodgeball in taking responsibility for his cruel and inhumane hobby with dogs. Seattle's Mariners continue to hang in there in second place, and the Cubs now sit atop their division of the National League. Tomorrow it rains. Maybe we'll luck out and won't see smoke or fires around this area.
The cool morning air is signaling an end to a long, hot summer----one with no zucchini at the Lovestead, lots of blossoms but no squash. My crook necks, though, are multiplying like rabbits, so much so that I gave 'em as door prizes at the Auntie's event last night. Some folks didn't get them because my senior memory of having picked the squash yesterday morning and putting them in my book bag failed to kick in until halfway through the signing.
Once it did, though, and I'd added an assortment of free Lovestead veggies to the book pile, the Auntie's crowd came alive, knowing they'd go home with "something gleaned." One person, however, apparently didn't appreciate the gesture and stuffed the gift squash on a book shelf while leaving the store. It was soon discovered by a store employee who was signing off for the night.
"There's a crook-neck squash here on the shelf," she announced across the room to her fellow workers.
"There are more over here," I yelled while autographing a book. She came to the table and took all that remained.
"I'll eat a crook neck any day," she said as she left for the night. Lois, the events coordinator, got a particularly artistic hand-out. Hers was darker orange and had more wrinkles than the others. At first, I gave Pat McManus an iddy biddy yellow runt, but it did have a pretty blossom. Later, I felt bad and pulled out a bigger model from my bag and handed it over to him. His wife Darlene seemed pleased that they'd come to hear Marianne and got to go home with a squash.
I got rid of a lot of squash last night because I know Bill and I cannot eat all those that keep popping out from the heart of that one huge plant. Now, I just don't know what the deal is with the zucchini. I've seen this phenomenon before---when there are all those blossoms but no fruit. This is unusual for zucchini because it has a reputation for being prolific. Maybe this is just a crook-neck year.
There was good news at the signing last night. Susie Short came. She graduated in the mid-'80s. She has six kids and almost a doctorate. Now, how many modern-day women could claim that? I was mighty proud to hear of Susie's achievements. We both agreed she'd been busy. I got to see Pam Stangel from Class of 1989. She looks great. And, Sig Thompson from Class of 1972 seemed to enjoy hearing the pie-eating story which featured her friend Kent Compton.
We had a great time afterward at Cyrus O'Leary's with my former colleague and good friend Marian Whitfield. She brought along a mother-daughter teaching team from Cheney. After sharing a few well-polished zingers from our Sandpoint High days, we parted company and headed for home. After all, Bill had to report to Bonners Ferry at 6 a.m. for fire duty. Arriving home at 12:30 a.m., I checked the telephone messages, and there was welcome news for Bill.
"Bill, you're being de-mobed," Mary Ann Hamilton said. That meant no need to get up quite so early. He has to head up there later this morning and sign out. Maybe, just maybe, this will be the end of his fire duty for 2007. It all depends on how much rain drops from the sky tomorrow.
It's Saturday, and I haven't gone to coffee cult in about two months. So, I think I'd better resurface and find out some of the local gossip. Hope everyone has a great weekend and that the news starts improving. Happy weekend.
Friday, August 17, 2007
On the road again
Seems like the family is gonna put in the miles over the next few days. Bill's already been doing just that, leaving the house every morning just past 5 and rolling in every evening about 10. We've exchanged a few sentences in the past three days, and a couple of times, I've found myself ripe to tell him something, when I realize he's already left to go back to his fire duty.
The fire near the Canadian border did expand by a few acres, but along with that one, several other smaller blazes have started in the area. So, they keep him at the Bonners Ferry Ranger Station as their logistics coordinator. Last night he asked about the trip to Spokane and Auntie's tonight.
I said I'd probably leave around 4. Then, he said he could go but he still has to be back up at Bonners Ferry tomorrow morning by 6 a.m. With the reading starting at 7:30 p.m., the signing afterward and visits with a few friends after that, it's doubtful the car will head home until at least 10 p.m., putting us home at midnight, at the earliest. Still, Bill is considering toughing it out and joining me on the trip to Spokane.
He says he'll surely be working through the weekend on the fires. Rain has been forecast for tomorrow, but as logistics coordinator, he always has to stick around to take care of final details.
My sisters will be on the road both Saturday and Sunday, also headed to Spokane for the August Sport Horse Show. Laurie will be riding her gelding Rusty in two dressage tests, tomorrow around 1 p.m. and Sunday around 3. If you're in Spokane and like dressage, the event is at the Sport Horse Arena off the Pullman Highway near Zip Trips.
By the way, speaking of horses and sisters who also teach riding lessons, I'm hearing my friend Rose Marie aka RMT on the slightdetour comments section did A-Okay on her first lesson ever. We're all proud of you, RMT! Keep up the good work.
After all the weekend driving, Barbara and I will head out Monday morning for Ronan, Montana, to pick up our babies, Lefty and Dusty. Their present owner weaned them from moms this week and has kept them up near her house. It's been hard containing the excitement of these new additions to our horse herd for the past several weeks, but now it's getting close. So, I'm not containing any more. I'm downright excited.
By now, both of our little guys should have shed their baby hair, and we'll have a really good idea what their hide will look like for the rest of their lives. Barbara's Dusty will be dun with four white stockings and a blaze, while my Lefty (formal name "Mokadot") will be a deep dark chestnut with red mane and tail, one white stocking and a cute star smack dab in his forehead, hence Mocha-Dot.
Life will be different with the babies, and we're looking forward to bringing them home. I've been telling Lily (who's been chasing Bert Wood's Angus calves out of her pasture daily) that a new friend will be coming. She hasn't commented except to ask for one more carrot, but I'm sure she'll be pleased when Lefty shows up.
That way, when they go to the pasture, Willie Nelson will be proud to know that there'll be "Lefty, Lily and the boys."
"On the Road Again" should lead to some fun ventures and memories this next few days.
The fire near the Canadian border did expand by a few acres, but along with that one, several other smaller blazes have started in the area. So, they keep him at the Bonners Ferry Ranger Station as their logistics coordinator. Last night he asked about the trip to Spokane and Auntie's tonight.
I said I'd probably leave around 4. Then, he said he could go but he still has to be back up at Bonners Ferry tomorrow morning by 6 a.m. With the reading starting at 7:30 p.m., the signing afterward and visits with a few friends after that, it's doubtful the car will head home until at least 10 p.m., putting us home at midnight, at the earliest. Still, Bill is considering toughing it out and joining me on the trip to Spokane.
He says he'll surely be working through the weekend on the fires. Rain has been forecast for tomorrow, but as logistics coordinator, he always has to stick around to take care of final details.
My sisters will be on the road both Saturday and Sunday, also headed to Spokane for the August Sport Horse Show. Laurie will be riding her gelding Rusty in two dressage tests, tomorrow around 1 p.m. and Sunday around 3. If you're in Spokane and like dressage, the event is at the Sport Horse Arena off the Pullman Highway near Zip Trips.
By the way, speaking of horses and sisters who also teach riding lessons, I'm hearing my friend Rose Marie aka RMT on the slightdetour comments section did A-Okay on her first lesson ever. We're all proud of you, RMT! Keep up the good work.
After all the weekend driving, Barbara and I will head out Monday morning for Ronan, Montana, to pick up our babies, Lefty and Dusty. Their present owner weaned them from moms this week and has kept them up near her house. It's been hard containing the excitement of these new additions to our horse herd for the past several weeks, but now it's getting close. So, I'm not containing any more. I'm downright excited.
By now, both of our little guys should have shed their baby hair, and we'll have a really good idea what their hide will look like for the rest of their lives. Barbara's Dusty will be dun with four white stockings and a blaze, while my Lefty (formal name "Mokadot") will be a deep dark chestnut with red mane and tail, one white stocking and a cute star smack dab in his forehead, hence Mocha-Dot.
Life will be different with the babies, and we're looking forward to bringing them home. I've been telling Lily (who's been chasing Bert Wood's Angus calves out of her pasture daily) that a new friend will be coming. She hasn't commented except to ask for one more carrot, but I'm sure she'll be pleased when Lefty shows up.
That way, when they go to the pasture, Willie Nelson will be proud to know that there'll be "Lefty, Lily and the boys."
"On the Road Again" should lead to some fun ventures and memories this next few days.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Time flies
There's gonna be a potluck Aug. 29. I'm supposed to bring a hotdish, a chair, my own BEVERAGE, and my husband. Well, it's at 3 p.m., so I don't know if my husband can show up on time. After all, he's a working man. But the hosts don't really care. After all, this is for teachers, former ones, that is. Retired teachers, to be more specific.
Why a potluck on a Wednesday afternoon at 3 p.m. Aug. 29? Seems like a strange time until the hostess with the mostess, Linda Hunt, informed me yesterday that it's the day before all the other teachers have to go back to work. So, all the old school farts are gonna sit back on their lawn chairs, nibble, sip, and sigh about how sad it is that another school year will be starting without us.
Hard to believe this is the fifth time school has started without me. In fact, it's gone by so fast that I was telling everyone this spring that I'd retired four years ago. I really thought it was only four years until the college commencement invitations from students I'd had as juniors arrived in the mail.
One night in early May, I was thinking about Logan Free's upcoming graduation at Georgia Southern where she'd been a standout softball pitcher and a good student, to boot. Then, I got to thinking that she must have graduated in just three years. I was pretty impressed until I did some subtraction. Logan was a junior my last year of teaching. That was 2002. When you subtract 2002 from 2007, you get 5.
That moment of math practice told me I could still cipher, but more important it hit me between the eyes. That was the very moment when I first realized that the time surely is slipping away---and much too fast. I can't believe I've been away from teaching for five years, but the calendar and my math tell it IS so.
I'm almost afraid to blink. Two years of life could speed by in that millisecond, and those early September days signaling the return of the bad stomach, the insomnia and the constant need to keep trudging forward or you'll get behind will seem a long, long way back in the past instead of "just yesterday."
What is it about this retirement time that allows those same Monday-Friday days when we were operating strictly by the clock, often counting the minutes, to suddenly pay no heed to time? Nowadays, they start early in the morning when we shoot out of bed with an urgency of not wanting to waste a minute. Suddenly they're over when we're slouched on the couch, drifting off into Never Never Land while Larry King interviews Tammy Faye Baker or Myrv Griffin's friends---at 9 o'clock, of course.
When the dried-up August lawns, bright red tomatoes and yellow school buses doing their trial runs down country roads remind us that another school year is about to begin, I do think about the things I won't miss by not showing up at Sandpoint High School one more time to scare the beejeebers out of another crop of kids who will soon learn that the bark's a lot gruffer than the growl. But I don't think about it for long.
After all, life is slipping by. To ponder too long might mean another day suddenly gone, another day closer to the time when we won't care anymore.
Hence, I say "Carpe Diem!" I'll go to Ron and Linda's Wednesday afternoon party and help my old teaching friends celebrate another year without bells and classroom clocks directing our every move.
Why a potluck on a Wednesday afternoon at 3 p.m. Aug. 29? Seems like a strange time until the hostess with the mostess, Linda Hunt, informed me yesterday that it's the day before all the other teachers have to go back to work. So, all the old school farts are gonna sit back on their lawn chairs, nibble, sip, and sigh about how sad it is that another school year will be starting without us.
Hard to believe this is the fifth time school has started without me. In fact, it's gone by so fast that I was telling everyone this spring that I'd retired four years ago. I really thought it was only four years until the college commencement invitations from students I'd had as juniors arrived in the mail.
One night in early May, I was thinking about Logan Free's upcoming graduation at Georgia Southern where she'd been a standout softball pitcher and a good student, to boot. Then, I got to thinking that she must have graduated in just three years. I was pretty impressed until I did some subtraction. Logan was a junior my last year of teaching. That was 2002. When you subtract 2002 from 2007, you get 5.
That moment of math practice told me I could still cipher, but more important it hit me between the eyes. That was the very moment when I first realized that the time surely is slipping away---and much too fast. I can't believe I've been away from teaching for five years, but the calendar and my math tell it IS so.
I'm almost afraid to blink. Two years of life could speed by in that millisecond, and those early September days signaling the return of the bad stomach, the insomnia and the constant need to keep trudging forward or you'll get behind will seem a long, long way back in the past instead of "just yesterday."
What is it about this retirement time that allows those same Monday-Friday days when we were operating strictly by the clock, often counting the minutes, to suddenly pay no heed to time? Nowadays, they start early in the morning when we shoot out of bed with an urgency of not wanting to waste a minute. Suddenly they're over when we're slouched on the couch, drifting off into Never Never Land while Larry King interviews Tammy Faye Baker or Myrv Griffin's friends---at 9 o'clock, of course.
When the dried-up August lawns, bright red tomatoes and yellow school buses doing their trial runs down country roads remind us that another school year is about to begin, I do think about the things I won't miss by not showing up at Sandpoint High School one more time to scare the beejeebers out of another crop of kids who will soon learn that the bark's a lot gruffer than the growl. But I don't think about it for long.
After all, life is slipping by. To ponder too long might mean another day suddenly gone, another day closer to the time when we won't care anymore.
Hence, I say "Carpe Diem!" I'll go to Ron and Linda's Wednesday afternoon party and help my old teaching friends celebrate another year without bells and classroom clocks directing our every move.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
A great time at Boise Borders
Thank you, Stephen Hoadley, for sending these photos. Thank you, Willie, for taking the bottom shot of my former English aide, Lucy King ????. I don't know her married name because we didn't get EVERYTHING discussed at the book signing.
For Sandpointers who knew Episcopalian priest Kale King and his talented wife, Lucy's their daughter. She graduated from Sandpoint High School back in 1981, and I believe Saturday was the first time I've seen her since the '80s. Nice as ever.
I took some photos at the signing also but should have had my flash going cuz most turned out a blur. So, to all the rest of you who were in the audience, including Stephen, his wife Emily and their adorable twins, thanks for coming. Thank you, Jennifer, from Borders for being such a gracious host.
And, to Willie, who shared the spotlight with me, it was, indeed, a proud day for Mom.
The book events go on: this Friday night, Aug. 17, 7:30 p.m. Auntie's, in Spokane. Be there or be marked absent. I'm gonna talk about messy pies at this reading.
In the meantime, I'm excited today because Keith Morris has come to town. He's another Class of 1981 grad who's a writing professor at Clemson University. He's also authored two books (The Greyhound God --- Best Seats in the House) and several short stories which have won prestigious East Coast literary awards. Keith was kind enough to endorse the back cover of my book, along with Ben Stein. We're going to have coffee and maybe talk writing. I'm very proud of Keith and his accomplishments.
Finally, I've got news about a new book to watch for, come January. It's called Blue Heaven, and it's written by Wyoming award-winning novelist and bestseller, C.J Box. I'll be writing about the book for Sandpoint Magazine, cuz C.J. came to Sandpoint to get material for his captivating thriller. He visited with Bill and me as well as Roley and Janice Schoonover from Western Pleasure Guest Ranch. Stay tuned for more news about Blue Heaven---guaranteed to be a page turner.
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